


Little Saint

by Onki



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, First Meetings, John Does Not Care, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Santino's obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11080113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onki/pseuds/Onki
Summary: Young D’Antonio’s first tale of the new mad dog of the Russian mob was of the pencil. Who knew? To end lives of three mercenaries with one pencil. Young man idly wondered where the hell did the assassin get a pencil at the bar.





	Little Saint

**Author's Note:**

> Ironic how Santino means 'Little Saint' in italian  
> anyway i couldn't sleep at night after watching JW2 so yes i finished it at 6am tell me if you see some misspellings  
> Also this is trashy as hell dont bother

Curiosity was the first thing Santino felt when he first heard of the John Wick.

Usually, he didn’t bother with the hired muscle, considering them a lower life than of his own, thinking that they wouldn’t even survive another day. Sure, his life wasn’t the most perfect one, but at least some would give a damn if he, say, died in a ditch some day, but that’s a thought for another day.

Young D’Antonio’s first tale of the new mad dog of the Russian mob was of the pencil. Who knew? To end lives of three mercenaries with one pencil. Young man idly wondered where the hell did the assassin get a pencil at the _bar_.

And then stories just kept pouring in, not intentionally, Santino drank in every new information about the mysterious man, soaking up everything like a dried sponge in a pool of water. The more he heard about him, the more his need to see the _Boogeyman_ in flesh grew. Sometimes, he even thought all were tales, so the Russian mafia could keep control over their territories in the city. However, no one willed to risk it, crossing the Tarasov family.

Currently, Santino played with the espresso cup, swirling the remaining goop around in a bored manner. Waiting out for another shootout to end at the Continental’s lounge room with his family, he saw a man briefly stopping by at his sister’s side, talking in hushed polite tone. From the body language, he could easily see they were comfortable with each other. Deciding he had nothing else to do, but to ruin his sister’s potential date, he walked up to them with a swagger.

“ _Why, Gianna, you change your boyfriends like your shoes_ ”, he slid between them purring out in Italian, grinning at his sister’s murderous face. To his disappointment, the man didn’t seem to be faltered, daring to look mildly annoyed.

“ _Why, brother, one might think you’re envious_ ”, she hissed back with a pleased smile, throwing an apologetic glance towards her companion, “Sorry, my brother just loves being at the center of the attention.”

“ _Envious? Of what, taking cocks like a puttana?”_  

Yes, it was childish, but he couldn’t let her win this bickering. Besides they were talking in Italian, the other one seemed to just wait for them to finish.

“ _Oh, brother, don’t push your fantasies onto me”,_ Gianna put her hand on her chest, sighing in a mock-sympathy that drove Santino mad, “Enough of this”, she cut him off with a wave of her hand, facing the other man.

“It is rude of me not to introduce you to my _idiota_ of a brother here, John”, the man looked up, well, looked down at Santino, curse his height, and young D’Antonio was _gone._ Deep dark brown eyes pierced him with an intensity that could last him a lifetime, gazing at him, as if analyzing every inch of him. Santino had to physically refrain himself from shivering, quickly darting his eyes towards his sister.

“John”, the man nodded at him and Santino squeezed out of himself every inch of will to look at the taller man again, dressed to the nines in a sleek black suit, contrasting his skin nicely.

“Don’t be so shy now, John give him your full name”, Santino rolled his eyes at her, as if someone’s name could matter to him, incredibly attractive, yes, but still it wasn’t enough for him to care.

“John Wick”, the hitman repeated with a deep rumbly voice. Santino tried not to choke up on his spit and die, slowly looking up at his sister, who was giving him a devilish grin, enjoying his suffering. So she noticed that he asked more questions than usually after people talked about John, he should be more careful in the future.

“Santino”, he croaked out, throat suddenly chapped and dry, “Should we talk at more comfortable place?”, he continued, nodding towards the general area of the bar.

“Can’t, unfinished business”, he coldly replied, giving a warm smile for his sister before leaving. Santino tried to not slump in disappointment at his answer.

“Fine then, go on”, he muttered after his already gone back, retreating back to the bar to order himself a drink.

“The look on your face, brother. Absolute misery”, he could feel the smug tease bursting at its seams, ready to explode any moment from his sister, who has seated herself beside him.

“ _Shut up.”_

_\---_

The next time he sees John is at one of the gala concerts he and his sibling was forced to attend.

‘It’ll be good for future relations with the clans’, he scoffed at the idea, doubting a single appearance at some concert would give him a green light to do whatever with the other families. However it seemed to become somehow bearable, now that he has spotted the shadowy figure of the hitman, slinking from one crowd to another like water.

As if possessed, Santino followed the man, but then he lost track of him around the corner, deciding the restroom was his best shot, he walked inside of it, careful not to make any noise, only to be slammed against the door with a hand on his mouth and a knife at his throat.

A flicker of recognition passed over Wick’s face, making him lower his hand on his mouth, urging him to speak.

“It is rather rude to point a knife at someone’s throat as a greeting, John, maybe that’s how Russians do it, but in Italy we kiss each other on the cheeks”, he tried to mentally slice his throat. Why did his mouth run faster than his head, he never learned from his childhood.

“Why are you following me?” John gave him the no-bullshit glare, looming over him.

“I wasn’t”, he easily lied, only to feel the blade pressing uncomfortably close to his adam’s apple which bobbed when he swallowed. Santino could catch a whiff of John's aftershave, and see the growing stubble on his face, if not for the knife D’Antonio would’ve done most regrettable thing such as leaning in.

“Alright I was, but I thought I wasn’t spotted”, he rushed when Wick stepped closer to intimidate him, “And it was out of curiosity.”

“Curiosity”, John deadpanned, putting away the knife into his belt.

“Yes, are you here to finish off someone? Are you already done? How come you’re not shot on the spot at public events, since you only emerge from your Russian sewers to kill?”

He could’ve asked more if he had not been cornered, with each question he saw Wick step closer, with each one Santino took one back, until his back hit the wall.

“Your pupils are dilated”, Wick casually observed, leaning into his personal space, “Sweating, elevated heartbeat. I ask again, why did you follow me?” his questions didn’t even sound like questions with his monotone way of talking it came off more like a threat.

Santino couldn’t answer that if he wanted to keep his already decimated dignity. It was obvious to both of them that he was painfully aroused, taking shallow breaths, looking at John with his half lidded eyes, which worked like charm on everyone, well, except John now.

“Do you really have to make me spell it out? _Have a mercy on me, lord”,_ he muttered the last part in Italian, looking up to the ceiling, praying for the high deities.

“ _Lords won’t help you with your fantasies about cocks, signore D’Antonio”_ , John hummed in Italian, dropping Santino in a horror pit, as he realized that he understood every word he threw at his sister during the first encounter with the Wick. Santino wanted to bash his head into the wall.

“If you even _breathe_ a word to someone-“, Santino couldn’t finish his sentence, as John pushed him into one of the stall just in time when two other voices entered the restroom. They were talking in Russian and seemed to be engrossed in whatever they were discussing, barking out laughs at times.

Santino noticed rigid posture of the hitman, so he did the most idiotic thing he could ever think of: he dropped on his knees in front of John, sending a playful look at him. Wick tried to pull him up, but he didn’t budge, now cornering the Boogeyman himself.

Santino raised a brow asking silently whether he wanted it or not, hands resting at the helm of John’s belt. Wick gave him a short nod and that was all he needed to quickly unfasten the belt, opening the zipper. There was already an admirable bulge, which Santino mouthed, licking the outline of the cock through the underwear, feeling the little twitches of it on his tongue.

The two Russians were still in the restroom booming at each other in their mother language, but Santino didn’t care about them, all he cared was about the cock in front of him that grew and grew in size, fattening up from all the blood pumping to it.

Deciding it was time to look at it, he pulled down the elastic band of the boxers, making it bob out of its confines. Uncut, thick and long, making Santino’s mouth water in anticipation. With no further delays, he pushed back the foreskin before swallowing him down to the half of the shaft, pumping what he couldn’t reach, making Wick hiss and grip heir’s curls at the back of his head.

Santino couldn’t help the hum of pleasure that escaped him, when John gripped his hair tighter, pushing in deeper and faster. Relaxing his throat further, he reached down to palm his own hard-on, which was painfully rubbing against the tight fabric.

When he looked up, he saw John still giving him the cold look, making Santino flush. He wasn’t used to people he had bedded looking at him like that, they only looked up with worship, hoping he’d give them a special treatment. Now, he felt smaller at John’s mercy.

He kept on sucking, trickle of saliva dripping down his chin. He could already taste the salty tang of pre-cum at the back of his mouth. John kept going and Santino couldn’t help himself when he choked at one point, tapping at John’s hip to stop. Considering the size of him, younger man was impressed at himself he kept at it for so long.

His time-out was brief, as he was roughly pushed face first at the sidewall of the stall, making him grunt out. He realized that the voices were gone already, freeing him to be however loud he wanted. That’s why he gave an obscene moan, when John pushed down his pants and clawed the meat of his ass. Soon enough he felt a slick finger prodding his entrance, he didn’t even want to know where had he gotten a lube.

John didn’t give him a minute to adjust, as he pushed second, then third ones in, prodding around, trying to find his prostate.

‘At least he cares I get off’, a brief thought slipped by Santino’s mind.

“I’m not a girl get on with it, _stronzo_ ”, D’Antonio hissed, throwing a glare over his shoulder.

“Lean on your forearms”, John suggested in his annoyingly calm tone that drove Santino up the wall.

“Don’t tell me what to do, I know perf-“, he was cut off when John roughly shoved the head of his cock into him, taking him by surprise and shutting him up immediately. Santino shook off his pants completely to spread his legs wider. John’s hands gripped his hips, making him almost stand on his tiptoes.

He kept pushing in, filling him up and leaning down to nibble on Santino’s neck. Sucking, biting and licking, his beard scratching the sensitive spot of his nape. He arched into his touch, scrabbling for purchase, hand reaching out to touch John. Wick took his hand and pinned to the wall, Santino looked at the hand bigger than his own, covered in scars from slashes and bullets, which made him harder than before, if it was possible.

When John was fully inside of him, he gave out a shaky exhale, the only sound he provided him with since he started to enter, whereas Santino was already a panting mess, sweating rolling down his back, legs aching from the stretch.

” _I’ll turn around and fuck_ you _instead if you won’t start moving now”,_ Santino breathed, when he couldn’t take the silence and stillness anymore.

“Do you ever stop complaining?” was all he got before John set a brutal pace of short hard thrusts, making Santino slump onto the wall, barely holding himself up in time with his forearms before he was smooshed his face in.

John’s hand snaked up to his hair, gripping it and pulling down his head to expose his throat. The other hand was gripping his hip tight, probably leaving a bruise. He fucked him with no care of his body, using it thoroughly, chasing for his own release and Santino _loved_ every second of it.

“Is that all you’ve got, _bastardo?”_ Santino just didn’t know when to shut up, he always tested his boundaries.

John gave him a half animalistic growl before ripping top buttons of his expensive shirt and biting down on his juncture or the neck, drawing blood. Santino's almost yowl of pain was cut short when Wick hit his weak spot inside of him. Noticing it, John, that fucking devil, kept pounding into it without missing a beat.

Santino doesn’t know how long has it lasted, might be a minute or a whole eternity, who knows, he wasn’t checking the time, he felt ripples of the orgasm edging on him from the horizon, making him tense and desperately meet the other man halfway. He could hear the rugged breaths of the other man, tickling him in the ear, making him squirm more.

Then he felt it: an absolute blankness of mind, muting all of his senses. A broken moan escaped his lips, as he spilled in front of him, clenching on John’s cock, as if his body was begging Wick to stop and finish. And he did, giving a few small pushes, before grunting his release, filling him up with thick spurts of his seed.

John was already pulling out, making the semen trickle down his thighs.

“Do you have to hurry, give a man some break, _dio_ ”, he was reaching for paper to wipe it, but John was already doing it, roughly wiping it and throwing the waste into the bin. A half-baked gentleman, Santino snorted at the idea.

“We’re not lovers”, John mildly voiced. Santino gave him an irritated look while pulling his pants up, starting to feel awkward, when no one spoke. What was he supposed to say to that? ‘Alright, friend, have a good day’? They weren’t even friends.

“Well if”, he was at loss of words, but John has already made a decision – he was moving out of the stall, hastily washing his hands.

“Oh, what, if you’re so disgusted should’ve not fucked me then”, Santino barked, which earned him a sullen look from Wick, who didn’t say anything and was leaving the restroom.

“ _Fine, run away then, coward!”_

After few minutes of solitude in the restroom and cold water splashes on his face, he grimaced when he saw few buttons on his shirt were missing, but he didn’t bother to look for them, he was wearing this shirt once anyways. When he looked composed enough, Santino walked out of the restroom only to be met with his sister, who was leaning against the wall, suppressing her laughter.

“ _My brother, you sounded just like our dearest cousin Lucina after her lovers run away.”_

_“I’ll kill you one day, Gianna D’Antonio.”_

_“I’ll see you try.”_

_\---_

Santino may or may not have been baiting the Tarasov family for the past few weeks – selling drugs on their territory, they begrudgingly accepted young D’Antonio’s terms of sharing the territory. They were still establishing their territories and needed powerful allies, and if one thought about power, D’Antonio’s always popped into your mind.

But Santino wanted more, or, more likely he wanted them to be cornered to the point they send their Boogeyman to show, that they have a weapon of their own as well. But they were playing nice, which infuriated the young man.

He _was_ making profitable business, but everyone has boundaries his sister berated him as of late. ‘Too brash and bold. You have no sense of politics, it’s all games for you!’, his father lectured him earlier, ‘With such tendencies there’s no place for a man like you at the High Table!’

Santino saw red after his words, flying off the handle, wreaking havoc on his way out of the building.

He found himself in one of those dingy bars, ordering the strongest drinks, downing glasses one after other. Yes, it was irresponsible of him to so shamelessly taunt a forming syndicate, syndicate nevertheless, he had no reason other than drawing out the Wick, risking his future place at the High Table. He had to stop, or rather, he had to eliminate bane of all his problems: John Wick. He had to kill John Wick.

His drunk mind told him it was the brightest idea he came up with, so he decided to carry it out right away. Drunkenly telling the bartender to fuck off and pulling out the ‘I’m D’Antonio’ card on them, he half-stumbled, half-ran to Tarasov’s known headquarters. He didn’t even make halfway to the chop-shop, when he was grabbed by some goons and was knocked out, plunging him into the darkness.

He woke up in a dimly lit office, he could hear low murmurs over the distant sounds of metal scraping.

“-kill them all and you’re free to go”, is all he caught before he was rudely shaken to wake up. With all that shaking he’d earn another concussion rather than rousing.

“Oh, good, you’re not dead”, came a deep amused voice with a thick Russian accent, “Wouldn’t want the only heir of the D’Antonio’s clan to die in my chop-shop, would we?” he laughed patting him again.

Santino already had a headache and hangover wasn’t the cause of it.

“Where am I?” he demanded looking around himself.

“Well, you came here few hours ago yelling you’d kill my best henchman and insulting my whole family as well. Boy, if you weren’t partner’s son you’d be hanging from a bridge right now”, the man walked away from him, making his way towards the desk, pouring himself a drink.

“I have a son as well, reckless, incredibly _stupid_. But that’s what youth is for. However I cannot just let you walk out on me, after what you’ve said about my _family_ it’d be insulting for my whole clan. That’s why I’m leaving you with the _Baba yaga,_ so you’ll behave in the future and renegotiate our terms about the territories”, he downed his drink and walked out.

Santino looked around the room and saw how John emerging from the shadow like a ghost without making a single noise. Heartbeat thumping in his ears, Santino gulped, following the figure with his eyes, sweat already starting to build up on his forehead.

Wick made around the coach Santino was on, making him sweat more, when John was at his back. Finally, he walked in front of him, looking down at him. His face betrayed nothing. No anger, no fear, no sympathy. Santino felt foolish if he’d thought he’d get anything out of the man.

John sat down on the table in front of the couch, eyes leveling to of Santino’s.

“Hello, Santino”, D’Antonio prayed to all of the gods to be alive at the end of the day today, “Let’s make a deal", he was ready for anything at that moment.

“This is a marker.”

\---

Santino had actually agreed to the blood oath marker that’d be pointless in the future, because Wick was retiring. The infamous Boogeyman will be nothing but a legend now living with his _wife_. John had specifically told him that he would never kill again and would live a civilian life for the rest of his life. What a joke! Years passed an Santino often found himself tracing the outline of the medallion, looking at the blood of John Wick, his obsession a mere smoldering coal after a great fire.

Except he didn’t. One faithful day, he hears the Boogeyman was back and Santino felt that old forgotten nagging need to know about him growing again.

After all, they say curiosity killed the cat.

 


End file.
